A Child of Two Worlds
by DarkLadyAthara
Summary: Loki's life was built on secrets. Secrets kept from him. And the biggest secrets of all? Those of his origin…and his true parentage - of who sired him…and who birthed him.
1. Odin

**A Child of Two Worlds**

Summary

Loki's life was built on secrets. Secrets kept from him.

And the biggest secrets of all? Those of his origin and his true parentage.

Of who sired him. . .

. . .and who birthed him.

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O/S with the potential to become a four-shot.

Stand-alone, but will be considered canon within my MCU FanFiction Series.

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 **A/N:**

 **I will only post a single disclaimer, and it is this: This is based solely on the MCU live-action films. Nothing from comics, animated films or animated shows though I may draw some inspiration from them periodically. Additionally, there are going to be times when I play fast and loose with the films' sequence of events, but hey! This is Fanfiction! That's half the fun! So if something is 'wrong', don't flame please; I am not aiming for canon, but enjoyment.**

 **Oh, and the MCU is not mine…sadly… I only own my tweaks and my characters. If they weren't in the movies I made them up.**

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 **Well, we have TAngel96, XxTheAvengerXxX, lucidhalos and peppermiintmocha over on the Marvel Fanfictioners thread on Wattpad to thank for this one… they are a terrible influence… XD Conversation turned to Thor and Loki and one thing led to another and a theory I read back when Ragnarok came out and hit the muse like a slap in the face.**

 **So here we are! A lovely new one-shot with the potential to eventually turn into a four- or even five-shot! And while it is easily stand-alone, I will be considering this 'canon' in my MCU Story-verse.**

 **Remember I am going by movie canon only as gospel! NOT COMIC AND NOT SOURCE MYTHS. And in MCU canon, there is quite a lot that hasn't been explicitly clarified (like the identity of Hela's mother) or even expanded upon, especially in regard to Asgard and the Nine Realms. For instance, next to nothing is said about the culture of the Frost Giants…so I have taken liberties and expanded with ideas and assumptions that make sense to me. C:**

 **Oh, and I'm ignoring the ridiculous tidbit from Infinity War that suggests Thor is ~500 years older than Loki...**

 **…also, just for clarity's sake: in Ragnarok, Hela's mention of the length of her imprisonment is ambiguous—the way she says it, she could arguably mean she was imprisoned for multiple millennia or a single one… and the fall of Jotunheim was—gasp—a millennia before the events of the MCU… ;) So guess which one I'm using in this story…**

 **Enjoy, lovelies!**

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Odin

 _The Insurrection of Jotunheim has been definitively put down, and Odin Allfather victorious. But the Great Jotunheim Temple holds more than just the Casket…_

 _It holds painful truths, the end of a way of life…and the start of a new one._

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Odin Allfather was weary. More so than the demands of battle could account for. His footsteps were heavy as he made his way into the Great Temple of Jotunheim, intent on his purpose to collect the Casket of Ancient Winters. Mere days after it had begun with the Jotunns attacking Midgard, the forces of Asgard had emerged the clear victor at Tønsberg. The Frost Giants were subdued and, as part of the terms of King Laufey's surrender, the right to their great relic forfeit.

All thanks to their hubris in challenging Asgard.

The Frost Giants had gone too far in attacking a world under the protection of Asgard. They would never forget their folly. They would lose with they held dear to it. Odin would make them see. Make them understand. To challenge Asgard was to fall. To challenge Asgard was to forfeit their most sacred relics. The Casket would reside in Asgard from now on to prevent the Frost Giants from wielding it against another world ever again. And Jotunheim would remember their folly as their world fell to ruin.

As he stepped into the Temple, Odin's steps and those of his Einherjar companions echoed with a peculiar muffled quality, as though the sanctity of the Temple meant to stifle any disturbance to its imposing silence.

Odin forced back a sigh, the weight of his kingship particularly heavy this day. Heavy enough the phantom throbbing of his ruined right eye seemed a minor annoyance to him.

He was growing weary of war.

Perhaps Frigga was right. Perhaps this truly should be the last Great War.

Regardless, once he had ensured the Frost Giants were stripped of their ability to threaten the peace his wife had been encouraging him to turn to, he would have to act.

He would have to confront his daughter.

Hela had grown too feral and far too powerful. She had no control, no restraint. She did as she pleased without remorse or conscience. It was all Odin could do to aim her; truly, he could barely restrain her anymore from her ambition to bath the entire universe in blood. Even her insistence on consorting with Frost Giants—something he didn't entirely understand given her disdain for any race other than their own…though he supposed their brutality and their stark, cruel natures would pose intriguing to her own violent heart—undesirable a diversion as it was, was preferable to her obsession to expand the Asgardian Empire beyond the Nine Realms.

He did not know what had provoked Laufey to attack Midgard, drawing Asgard into war, but the sheer glee and satisfaction on her face? The gleam in her eye when she'd taken the field at Tønsberg? The way she had thrown herself into the battle to a degree beyond the fervour even she usually fought with?

Truthfully, Odin had been unsurprised that she had appeared, late to the battle though she had been, even after she had declared she would not. The look of disdainful petulance when he had called on her to join him on Midgard had made her intent to spite him for the way his thoughts had been turning more and more frequently to considerations on the 'folly of peace,' as she'd put it, perfectly clear. But the glint in her eye—the one that had confirmed to him that she had played at least some small role in spurring Laufey and the Frost Giants to war—had belied that intent.

He knew his daughter well. In many ways she was simple, easy to understand. She had played a role. He was certain of it. She had done it before, lashing out when Odin refused to accede to her increasingly violent desires.

This was the last time he would tolerate it.

She claimed they were meant to rule all, that Asgard was preeminent above all others and thus destined, even obliged, to extend their rule further still until all fell under their dominion.

But Odin knew, even if she didn't realize it herself, that her motives had less to do with any desire to rule all and more with the compulsion to slake her insatiable bloodlust.

And she sneered at the prospect of peace.

He knew what drew her to the idea of creating an empire that spanned the universe and not just the Nine Realms. The promise of war and battle and the chance to utterly crush their vanquished foes. By all that was sacred and dear to him, he knew what fed her desire to slaughter and subjugate. The power in it…it was addicting. Enthralling. He felt the same draw, had been caught in the same thrall of that power once. He had felt that same ambition, though his had been to conquer and rule as hers was to vanquish…and obliterate. Truly, if he was being honest, in his secret, innermost heart, he did still desire to conquer the universe as she did. To rule all, to enforce his will and his idea of order upon all within his domain. To see Asgard rise above all others.

In recent years, that desire had been diminishing, fading. It seemed age and perspective and what felt like centuries of unending war had changed him.

Age, perspective and the sage counsel of his beloved Frigga.

She had taught him the true value of magnanimity over domination. That balance was needed, else war would consume them all. He smiled despite himself at the thought of his wife and her unmatched wisdom and compassion.

If only she had been the one to bear and raise Hela…perhaps then his daughter's passion for violence and death would've been tempered.

Odin was beginning to fear that soon he would be unable to contain her. That her power would grow greater than his, and her challenges to his authority would become more than just her testing the limits of his patience and his tolerance. Her defiance was becoming insurrection.

He was beginning to believe it inevitable that she would try to depose him.

He truly did sigh at the thought of his eldest child. Her cruelty and malice, her desire for blood had grown too wild. Too uncontrollable. The carnage she left in her wake… Odin could be ruthless. He knew this. He was not ashamed of it. There were times when it was necessary. But he had never revelled in the sheer annihilation of his enemies as Hela did. Battle was by nature chaotic and gruesome, but it invariably was made all the more so once Hela had stormed the field, alight in all her ruthless, terrible glory, Fenris slavering and snarling at her heels.

But where once her zeal had been a boon, it was quickly becoming his bane.

She was as apt to kill those who surrendered as those who still fought.

To kill those who'd play no part in the battle at all.

To slaughter innocents.

And such acts were honourless.

He heard the echo of Hela crowing her joy and ecstasy at Tønsberg—violence and bloodlust personified—in the back of his mind just as she had a thousand times over in the heat of battle while Fenris howled in triumph. Even now, the battle long over, the memory alone sent a shiver of primal fear through Odin as it never used to. As did the fury on her face when he had refused to allow her to accompany him to Jotunheim, forbidding her to slaughter every last Frost Giant no matter that they had yielded, furious that he would allow them to slink back to Jotunheim.

The snappish quip that he was grown soft…and that she would be better suited to rule Asgard haunted him.

Something had to be done. Whether he chose to put the days of battle and conquest behind them or not, she needed to be contained.

He was starting to see that, for all its illusions of glory, War truly brought was more War, offering little in return but grief and ruin and ash. There was glory to be had, yes, but he was coming to feel it was...hollow. Odin was starting to wonder if only the dead truly found glory in battle. The living might grasp it in victory for a time, but they forever had to bear the blood-price they'd paid for it on their souls; the gilded gleam of victory tarnishing in the face of the death and destruction it demanded to pay for it. Glory and honour seemed a poor compensation at times to the losses War demanded. As time passed and War followed Great War, he could see the shadow of it in the eyes of his people. For all their pride and readiness to chase the glory of battle, to unerringly follow him to war, it wore on them all the same to bear the lives taken and lost on the battlefield that came regardless of victory or defeat.

He could feel it weighing heavier on his own soul with each passing campaign, the fulfilment he'd once found in victory feeling ever more diminished with each new blood-soaked field and still, lifeless body torn apart by sword and spear and axe.

He was tired.

Perhaps Frigga was right.

Perhaps it was time for rest.

Time for creation instead of destruction.

Perhaps it was time for Peace.

Either way, he needed to find a way to rein in Hela.

Something he was beginning to fear only death would truly accomplish…

…and that was the one thing he was unable to do.

He approached the altar, gesturing one of his Einherjar Guard forward to collect the Casket. He watched impassively as the warrior lifted the Casket from its plinth, stowing it safely in the sturdy, heavily girded wooden chest his companions carried between them. And at Odin's nod, they bore the wooden chest from the Temple.

Leaving Odin alone in the cavernous space.

He stood for a moment, relishing in the silence, the solemnity of the space. A flash from the other side of the great doors signalled his orders had been carried out and Heimdall had borne the chest and its cargo home to be safely secured in his vault. Inhaling deeply, Odin turned, preparing to leave himself.

Only to freeze as a soft whimper emerged from the palpable quiet of the Temple. Every sense suddenly on alert, Odin circled the plinth that had once held the Casket.

He let out a long, weary breath, his chest suddenly feeling tight.

There, nestled into a niche at the base of the plinth, was a child…no, not just a child, a Jotunn infant not more than a few weeks old, at most.

An impossibly tiny Jotunn infant. It couldn't be larger than his own children had been at their births. Far too small for normal Frost Giant offspring.

He edged closer, peering down at the runt. The markings upon his skin—it was a male babe he noted—were familiar…

…Laufey…

Realization broke over him between one breath and the next…this infant was Laufey's offspring…the marks were as telling as the shape of his face or hair color or the hue of the eyes would've been in a child of the Aesir.

He scowled, the expression tugging painfully at the still tender flesh of his ruined eye as a wave of fury threatened to build. What had possessed the Jotunn King to abandon his infant in the Temple?

Could it be the infant's size, Odin mused. Jotunns abhorred weakness. To be weak was to die in the unforgiving climate of Jotunheim and this child's size would've been seen as the ultimate proof of weakness. Only the strongest could survive on Jotunheim. Only the strongest deserved to survive. Their culture demanded it so their race could endure.

Odin knelt, peering closer still at the infant. The tiny boy squirmed, his face screwed up in misery. He was alone, hungry, frightened.

Perhaps this was a ritual, done to see if the tiny Jotunn child was strong enough to endure the natural, brutal cold of their home. That leaving him, alone in nothing but his swaddling clothes and a thin blanket to soften the unyielding stone of the plinth, was a test of the babe's strength of will.

Or perhaps this was the only way to dispose of the child without violating one of their most sacred beliefs.

Odin knew that, for all their brutal natures and the value they placed in strength, the Jotunn race protected their children with vicious determination. Their offspring were rare and precious. Even if they did not nurture their young the same way as was done on Asgard or Midgard or Vanaheim, Odin knew the Frost Giants valued and cared for their children in their own way. Even in territorial conflicts between clans, bloody as those clashes often became, it was near sacrilege to harm a child. He knew the Jotunns had deep, secret places within their fortresses to hide their children when battle threatened. Further, Odin had learned long ago that no honourable Jotunn would dare harm a Jotunn child. To purposefully kill one? Even one such as this one where the central tenant of their society demanded the infant die? As Odin understood it, it would be a mortal sin above all others.

Though…if the belief that allowing the child to live would be the greater sin…leaving him in the Temple might just be a vain hope to protect the babe, believing he might be safe within the sacred walls of the Great Temple. It was possible.

But more unlikely than possible. He simply couldn't see Laufey risking his already tenuous position following his capitulation to Odin by flouting a demand of his people to be rid of an ill-fated child if that was what was expected. But perhaps the infant's mother…a mother he could see believing the risk to save her child as one worth taking.

Yet, Odin had heard whispers among the Jotunn that Laufey's wife Farbauti was dead, though just how had not been spoken of in his hearing. It was possible she had fallen on the battlefield, but he could not be certain. Now, seeing this babe? If she had borne it, the shame might have been too much; her life might have been forfeit and so acted upon…either by her own hand or another's.

The Jotunn child whimpered again, his vibrant red eyes fixing helplessly on Odin. His heart warmed at the innocent need in the child's eyes.

And he reached out before he could help himself, an instinct to soothe the child overwhelming the stoicism and dispassion he bore as a matter of course in his role as King.

Only to be paralyzed with shock as, beneath his touch, the Jotunn infant's cold, blue-hued skin began to melt to rosy pink flesh.

Odin snatched his hand back as though burned.

That was impossible…

"And now you understand…" His disbelief was so great, Odin did not even tense at the deep, grating voice, evocative of two great glaciers grinding against one another in the way it echoed in the silence of the Temple. Laufey stood in the shadows, watching as Odin knelt over his son.

Once Odin might've assumed the massive Frost Giant wouldn't hesitate to attack upon finding him alone in such a vulnerable pose. But he knew with confidence Laufey would do no such thing. Not this time. Not when he knew his cause was lost and that Odin and Asgard would exact a terrible vengeance for the Jotunn King reneging on his surrender and the Treaty they had agreed upon.

Not when, mere days before, Odin had held Gungnir to his throat and spared his life.

Not when Odin all but held his offspring at his mercy.

But in that, Laufey had little to fear. Odin did not care to murder babes or children. It was the father in him, he supposed. He saw the faces of his children in the faces of every young child he saw in war. And as he knew he could never bring himself to harm his own child…

No, Odin was incapable of shedding the blood of his own.

"I suppose this was the offence you wished to avenge," he asked softly of the Jotunn King, not lifting his gaze from the child where he squirmed and fretted, his face crumpled and miserable. "The mixing of Jotunn blood—your blood—with that of Asgard." Laufey hummed, the sound nearly a growl.

"You comprehend much, Allfather," Laufey countered, "and yet very little." Odin looked up to Laufey, restraining the urge to frown. Laufey nearly scoffed, his eyes not leaving the babe. "You presume much. You think I am affronted by the child's existence?" Odin considered the Frost Giant's statement.

Was he not right to think as much? Asgard and Jotunheim had been bitter rivals and more often mortal enemies for time beyond measure. Surely they had to see the mixing of their races, of their blood as an abomination.

It would certainly be considered such on Asgard…

"You are not," Odin said carefully, the nature of his response purposefully enigmatic. Laufey's lip curled in a silent sneer.

"I am outraged that the Hellion discarded him—my blood—as little more than refuse," Laufey murmured after a long moment, his voice so low and furious and…anguished that Odin barely understood the words.

But he understood the feeling behind them.

And he understood what Laufey had not explicitly said.

His remaining eye slid shut as he sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging at the revelation.

It had all become clear.

To discard the child, to reject him so cruelly and so carelessly for his Frost Giant blood had been an insult of the highest degree; their pride as a race, the merciless lengths Jotunns would go to to protect their sacred, vulnerable offspring… Though he did not know if that had been the intent in rejecting the child, he knew the outcome would've been welcomed.

His own child did live for war, after all. And War with Jotunheim would've satisfied her bloodlust handily. For the Jotunns never would've borne such an insult. Indeed, they hadn't.

They had vowed War on Asgard to avenge what they had perceived as a vicious and unforgivable attack on their honour. They had vowed to take what belonged to Aesir—starting with Midgard—in recompense.

Odin could hardly breathe as the truth pressed painfully in on him, though he remained carefully stoic to all appearances.

By all that was sacred in Asgard and Valhalla, had it really come to this?

Had his ambition and his tacit acceptance—approval even—of his daughter's cavalier thirst for blood and violence above all else led to this?

Had it become such that a child's life meant nothing? That only war and conquest and death mattered?

In that moment Odin realized that he had truly had enough. The revelation settled hard and sharp and resolved in his chest. Enough was enough. He had walked through enough blood, gloried in enough death. For the first time in his time as king, he felt he was truly aware of the destruction his rule—that his _child_ —had wrought. And he felt shame, the feeling scalding and potent.

Hela cared very little for innocent lives. To her, blood was blood and blood only had value when it ran.

And in that moment, Odin had realized just how little he had valued the innocent, how little he had valued _life_ as opposed to his wars.

To death.

It was as Frigga had been trying to make him see. It was time to glory in life.

In that moment of anguished clarity, he vowed Hela would not stand in the way of change. Of Peace. He would tear down their legacy of bloodshed and conquest.

And he would not suffer Hela to stand in his way, even if he had to erase her from memory to do it.

There was only one facet left to of all this that had not yet been explained.

"If this child is the catalyst of this war," Odin ventured slowly—sadly, even—as he looked once more to Laufey, "why leave him here when you knew I was coming? Why not secret him away in your great fortresses with the rest of your race's young?" Laufey straightened, his chin rising. But he said nothing.

Ahh…

And Odin understood. It was as he had initially assumed Laufey's perception of the infant to be. The child was to be considered unnatural even to his father. Laufey might care for his offspring in his own way despite his mixed heritage, but in the eyes of the rest of his race?

The infant was only half-Jotunn, and therefore not truly Jotunn at all.

The Frost Giants had fought because their honour had demanded retribution for their race being so callously insulted and their blood tainted…and because it was an opportunity to justify a renewed bid to expand their domain and to challenge the might of Asgard.

Not because they truly cared that King's offspring had been thrown aside. The child had been an excuse. To Laufey's kin, the babe was an abomination. An affront to everything they were.

An affront that had demanded recompense in battle only. Nothing more.

So the king had bowed to the will of his people and the values of his race.

He had left the child to the protection of the Great Temple. And if it was what fate dictated?

He had left his son to die.

Odin reached out, lifting the child and holding him before him, transfixed as his skin—paler than an adult Jotun's deep blue—faded once more to soft pink at Odin's touch. In the span of a long moment, he looked the very image of an Asgardian babe, with wisps of dark hair on his head Odin had not noticed at first and vibrant—familiar—pale green eyes. A warmth beginning to grow next to his heart, Odin cradled the infant close. The tiny boy mewled, nestling into Odin's warmth and the safety he offered. And the Allfather met Laufey's gaze, daring him to object.

The child might be half-Jotun, but he was half-Asgardian too.

Frost Giants weren't the only ones to value a child's life.

Especially if that child was blood.

Especially when in that blood lay potential. Potential for a future Odin was determined to fight for. Potential he could not afford to pass by. Odin was pragmatic, after all. He wasn't wholly ruled by sentiment. This child could very well play a vital role in Odin's nascent desire for a lasting Peace.

Laufey was as stone, his features impassive, though he watched Odin and his son with an intensity that nearly sent a shiver up Odin's spine. There was resentment there. A deep, unforgiving resentment.

And perhaps a quickly suppressed measure of relief.

The babe would live.

But he would be Asgardian.

Odin rose and stepped down from the plinth. He could feel Laufey's eyes on him, cold and burning and heavier in that moment than the mantle of King Odin was charged to bear. His footsteps echoed loudly in the thick silence of the Temple as he crossed the cavernous space.

Upon reaching the massive doors, he paused, glancing back.

Laufey was gone.

And what Odin had learned weighed heavy on his heart.

He wrapped his cloak tight around himself and the babe in his arms.

And once outside the Temple, he called for Heimdall.

Frigga was waiting for him in their chambers, the faint thinning of her lips betraying she was still irritated that he had insisted on going to Jotunheim unaccompanied save for a handful of Einherjar guards. He smiled despite his grim mood. His queen, for all her wisdom and compassion and for all that she understood why he had no need to go in force, was still prone to worry for his wellbeing. She was fierce in her desire to protect what was hers, every bit the warrior he was. She was his compliment and his balance.

A fitting mate for him, that was for certain.

The babe squirmed in his arms, fretting softly.

Frigga looked up at the sound of Odin's approach, her smile one of relief at seeing him safe and home despite still being cross with him.

Begging her to defer her questions when she observed aloud that he looked troubled until later—not that she believed his assurances for a moment, though she humoured him—he embraced his queen, kissing her lightly in greeting before pulling back and drawing his cloak aside.

And Frigga's eyes went wide as she took in the sight of the tiny infant boy nestled in her husband's arms. Odin fought not to grimace at the fleeting, quickly hidden flash of hurt and dismay that surfaced amid the question in her eyes. She wasn't entirely wrong to wonder if the child was his; it wouldn't be the first of his indiscretions if he had been…

But this time he could set her mind at ease.

"He is blood," he said carefully, "abandoned by his Jotunn father." She blinked, speechless, her mouth parting in shock as the implications of his words struck her. He studied Frigga as she looked to the babe, her eyes flashing in righteous fury for the innocent in Odin's arms. "And he will be my son," he finished softly. Frigga's gaze snapped back to Odin, eying him warily. Assessing what she heard in his voice and saw on his features.

And then she looked to the boy, and her eyes—her whole countenance—warmed.

Without waiting for him to offer her the child, she scooped the infant from Odin's arms, humming and cooing softly as her fingertips brushed across his curious little face and tiny hands. He just watched as she crooned and rocked the babe, unable to help the smile that rose to his lips as the boy's eyes slowly slid shut in the comfort of Frigga's embrace.

After a moment she looked back up to Odin. A soft smile on her face, she reached out to cup his bearded cheek.

"Our son," she said firmly, maternal love already fierce and strong in her voice. Odin swallowed back swell of love and emotion for the woman he had married.

Frigga was no fool. If she hadn't drawn the correct conclusion already—which he suspected she had given the keen, considering way she had looked at him and the babe both—she would quickly enough as the boy grew. Already Odin could tell the boy's colouring would favour his birth mother and he had admitted the child is his blood.

There are only so many conclusions to be drawn.

Still, he was resolved to tell her regardless of her ability to discern the truth of herself. He would tell her everything. He did not keep secrets from Frigga. She, alone among all others, held his true confidence. And she knew it. He had seen in her face that she fully expected him to tell her everything and that she trusted him to do so in good time. She was patient. But for now, she was content to acquaint herself with their new son.

The truth could wait for a day or two. She would tell him when she was ready to hear the whole story.

But already he could tell that his beloved Frigga would not care about the origins of the boy. That she was well on the way to loving the child as fiercely as though he were her own after only a few moments. He could see it in her sharp, gleaming eyes.

This boy would be _hers_.

And that pleased Odin.

He feared he would only be able to see the child's birth mother in him. Already he feared how much more than his appearance the boy will have inherited from his true parents. And Odin feared there would be times he would be unable to see anything else.

But then Frigga's features grew grave, her eyes keen and knowing as they met his, considering him critically. "And your plans for this child?" There was no mistaking her meaning. She wasn't entirely convinced he had taken the infant out of altruism and paternal duty. She wasn't wholly wrong. Odin _did_ see the political value in having Laufey's son call him father. The potential for a true peace to be wrought one day between Asgard and Jotunheim through this child.

Frigga, his clever Frigga, had seen the same potential he had. She knew him well.

But, much as part of him might want to deny it, his pride and the call of his own blood in the boy's veins even a generation removed held more value than any hypothetical plans he might have.

"My plans?" he responded. "I plan for him to grow up." It was that simple.

Any other potential benefit was incidental just then.

Though a wary, considering light still shone in her eyes, Frigga seem satisfied he meant it.

Once more he marvelled at how well his heart and soul had done in finding its love match in such a woman. She knew better than to blindly believe him, but yet she trusted he held the child's well-being higher than any prospective machinations for conquest and power.

For all that he knew he could be just as cruel and ruthless as his firstborn, he had no intention of becoming a monster.

Though he was coming to accept he had sired one.

He bit back a sigh, wishing the peaceful moment of watching his wife and new son bond didn't have to end so soon. But he could not ignore his responsibilities. It wasn't who he was.

And as Frigga met his eye once more, her countenance grim but sympathetic, he knew she knew what he had to do now that he had returned. Her ability to predict his actions was uncanny at times.

But then, she had also been there when Hela had raged at his refusal to unleash her on Jotunheim. She had heard her stepdaughter's threats.

Leaving a light kiss on Frigga's cheek, he left his new son with the woman who owned his very soul, turning his mind to yet another grave task.

One he would not relish in the slightest.

Hela needed to be dealt with. For reasons beyond even the callous way his newly adopted son had been abandoned to a cruel fate. The boy had little bearing on why Hela needed to be restrained, though Odin was not above admitting he let it fuel his resolve.

No, the greater good, the safety of his Realms rested on what happened next.

He would confront her. And if she would not see reason? If she refused to set aside her bloodlust for the good of Asgard?

If she challenged him for the Throne as he knew she would?

He would do what he must to protect the realms under his protection.

He would defeat her.

And Hel would become her prison forevermore.

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 **A/N : Thank you so much for reading! I hope you loved reading it as much as I did writing it!**

 **And I hope you'll leave me a review telling me what you think!** **I'd very much love to hear from you!**

 **Happy Reading!**


	2. Frigga

**A/N: I finally managed it! Another instalment. I hope you all enjoy!**

 **Also, if you haven't yet, I do recommend giving Odin's entry another read. I went back and polished and changed a few things. ;)**

 **Just a brief reminder: I have ONLY drawn from the Films for reference. NOT the comics and not the source myths.**

 **Oh, and I'm still ignoring the ridiculous tidbit from Infinity War that suggests Thor is ~500 years older than Loki...**

 **So, the dialogue and events in this scene is lifted from both the Scene that made it into the move as well as the Alternate/Extended scene that was (obviously) cut/reworked for the final film since it didn't fit the sequence of events they finally went with. And since there were aspects of both that I not only liked but felt worked in the context of this story, I have made use of them both.**

 **And as with the first instalment and my expansion on Jotunn culture, my interpretation of Asgardian culture and sequence of events surrounding Hela and her imprisonment and so on is built mostly on what I consider reasonable interpretation, inference and creative license based on details from the movies told us (deleted scenes included save where they contradict with final cuts) with a wee bit of wiki dabbling where I felt it suited the story.**

 **Enjoy, Lovelies!**

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Frigga

 _Her elder son was banished. Her husband had fallen into the Odinsleep._

 _And her younger son was in pain. So much pain._

 _He'd finally learned the truth of who—of what—he was. And yet…there was still so much he didn't know. And for all that Frigga hated keeping the truth from Loki, her dark-haired boy, there were still some truths she hoped he would never learn._

* * *

"I never get used to seeing him like this."

At Loki's hushed, nearly whispered words, Frigga looked up from Odin's still features—they were almost, but not quite peaceful…as though he too worried and regretted about how he'd left things—to study Loki's drawn expression as he looked down at his father. He sounded so…adrift. Lost, even. Uncertain.

His entire life had been turned upside down.

If there was one thing Frigga hated above all else, it was seeing pain and sorrow written on the faces of the men she loved, on the faces of her husband and her sons. And right now? Pain and sorrow seemed far too mild to describe what she could see in her younger son no matter that he hid it well with a stoic, nearly emotionless mien.

Nearly.

For all that he hadn't been a child for many, many hundreds of years, in moments like this? In many ways, Frigga couldn't help but feel her grown son was still very much a boy.

He might be the god of lies and deceptions, but she was his mother. He could hide very little from her.

Loki was in pain. He'd been wounded down to his very soul.

And he was trying so valiantly to hide it.

Frigga's soul ached in concert with his. If she could take her beloved son's pain unto herself, to spare him from it, she would do so in a heartbeat. For he _was_ her son, in every way that mattered.

And finding out the truth of his heritage—the partial truth, she amended privately with sorrow and regret of her own—was a pain she could easily imagine threatened to crush him. Even now, she could see the cracks, the splinters, digging into him, threatening to fester.

And now he bore the burden of kingship on his shoulders as well.

"He's put it off for so long now," she answered, her own voice hushed as his was. She looked down to Odin once more, reaching out to take his hand in hers. Her skin tingled as it passed within the shimmering gold energy field that sheltered and sustained her husband's vulnerable form. Her proud, wise yet foolish husband. His hand was cool and all but lifeless. She easily agreed with Loki. She too never got used to seeing Odin like this. Not really. Certainly not this time. Worry fluttered in her chest. "But I fear…" She couldn't quite put voice to her fear and that in and of itself said more than enough. But she didn't have the heart to hide it. Not here, not in private. Not in the presence of the son that needed as much truth as she could give him, right now.

His life was made up of enough lies. Enough secrets.

Loki had always struggled to find his place in their family. For all that he had their undying love, her perceptive dark-haired boy had always been aware on some level that there was something being kept from him. That there was something…unspoken that set him apart. That there was an invisible measure that he was being judged against in his father's eye.

Of course, Frigga knew he had always imagined he was being measured against Thor, against what he believed everyone thought he should be just as she knew that he always feared he was being found wanting. And in some ways, he was correct.

It was little secret that many on Asgard compared the two princes against each other and found the younger lacking in light of the golden glory of Odin's firstborn son. Even if they did not intend to.

It was a natural enough impulse, she supposed, even if it was a disheartening one. She had to admit that there were times when even she compared her two boys, though she could truthfully say it was never out of even an unconscious impulse to decide if one was 'better.' But she could admit to giving into the impulse to catalogue their differences, their compliments, to compare them in that sense. And in that it was as comparing night and day.

She had never failed to marvel at how her two sons could be so different yet still be so close. How they could fight and argue and bicker with each other the way they did yet still be nigh inseparable.

Loki had always adored Thor just as Thor had always loved his little brother in return. He looked up to him as though Thor had hung the very stars. He had since they were both small children, following his older brother everywhere. Even now, grown as they both were, each powerful in their own right—there were times Frigga even suspected Loki might very well be just as powerful as Thor—Loki still always looked to his brother. Supporting him, doing his best to guide him even when he knew Thor was more likely than not to brush his words aside—just as Loki had confessed bitterly to her that Thor had done before their ill-fated journey to Jotunheim. Yet still he had followed, fighting by his brother's side without hesitation.

But so many on Asgard did not care to see her dark-haired son for what _he_ was. They did not see what Frigga saw. They simply saw him in relation to Thor. They saw the differences only and far too many made little effort to conceal that they found Loki to be 'less' in comparison to his brother.

And it weighed on him. Oh, Loki outwardly appeared to care little, carelessly brushing off any slights to his character in comparison to Thor, even going so far to embrace them in smiling defiance.

His skills at deception were too sharply honed, her vulnerable, wounded boy easily slipping behind masks and cloaks of laughing indifference and indolent grins.

Yet he still always strove to prove himself regardless, saying nothing when he came up short in other people's eyes. Falling back on tricks and mischief when he was disrespected and dismissed, be it by servants within the Palace or their friends Sif and the Warriors Three.

It broke Frigga's heart to see.

Yes, he would laugh and trick and make mischief to remind people that, just because he wasn't the charismatic Golden Warrior Thor was, he was not someone to be trifled with, to be dismissed. That, just like Thor, he was every bit a Prince of Asgard as his brother.

He would even claim he preferred to allow Thor all the glory at times, that he had no desire for it. And in some ways that was true.

But in other ways…in other ways, she knew her younger son desperately desired to be seen as his brother's equal. To be seen and valued in his own right.

To be seen as just as worthy as Thor.

Especially in Odin's eyes.

Loki had always thirsted for the opportunity to prove himself. To step out of Thor's shadow and into the sun in his own right.

It was a large part of why Frigga had taught Loki her magic. Why she had taught him to fight as she did, to be quick and cunning and not always straightforward when the time came to attack. To strategize, to analyze. To make use of his innate ingenuity and creativity and his shrewd, sly way of thinking. She had considered teaching Thor her 'tricks,' as he liked to call them, as well, but her eldest had never appreciated the subtlety of magic. Nor did he possess the patience, the curiosity nor the manner and particular brand of discipline necessary to master it.

But Loki…Loki had. And he did have the temperament.

He'd thrived under her tutelage. And he'd relished in finding something that set him apart.

Something that he could master that even Thor could not. Skills that encouraged his cunning and cleverness. That suited his innate knack for unpredictability and for seeing things that others missed; details and weaknesses he could take advantage of.

Loki was not like Thor, and Frigga had encouraged him to embrace that. He had neither the brute strength nor the bold temperament of his brother and so he'd needed to find a different path. Odin had never entirely approved of her methods, in encouraging Loki to use his magic and his calculating opportunism in battle over the more traditional forms of combat their culture generally favoured, but he had wisely declined to challenge Frigga on her decision. And Loki had become one of the fiercest warriors in the all Nine Realms because of it.

She took great pride in that.

And yet, so many nevertheless still saw him as the lesser of Odin's sons. Something that she knew wounded Loki and weighed on his heart for all that he claimed to disdain what anyone thought of him. And because of it, no matter the shame and conflicted resentment Frigga could see in him at feeling as much or how he fought it, a current of jealousy inevitably followed.

Jealousy and resentment that had begun taking root far more pervasively than Frigga liked as the years passed as Loki seemed to slip further and further into Thor's shadow.

Especially as the day of Thor's coronation drew closer.

But still he fought to suppress it, and that gave Frigga hope.

Now, though, with Odin's somnolence and Thor's banishment, the Throne had fallen to his keeping and guardianship.

Now Loki was King of Asgard.

Yet still, they whispered. Still hushed voices questioned him and wished it was his golden brother in his place. Even after what Thor had done to earn his banishment. Frigga might have strayed little from her husband's side since he'd fallen into the Odinsleep, she was not deaf nor blind.

She knew of the whispers, and how they cut deep. She'd heard of the reluctance on the parts of Volstagg, Hogun, Fandral and Sif when confronted with Loki's ascension to the Throne. She drew in a slow, bracing breath. She'd done what she could to guide the brash young warriors her sons were friends with…but they had minds of their own that she could not change no matter the respect she knew they held for their queen. Especially Lady Sif. She was stubborn and opinionated, and Frigga knew the younger woman had often only ever tolerated Loki for Thor's sake. There was little doubt that her opinion held a great deal of sway, and that opinion would undoubtedly be set against Loki in the wake of what she and their friends considered Thor's unjust banishment.

But Loki would persevere, Frigga believed firmly. He always did. He had drawn their doubt around himself like armour, hardening himself to it, and smiled in the face of their misgiving.

And he had resolved to prove them all wrong.

Frigga fought back a shiver of foreboding.

Though many times over the years—and much to her trepidation—she had heard Odin telling both her boys they were born to be Kings, Loki had never entirely embraced the idea as Thor had. He always puzzled over it, considered it, but always seemed to set the idea aside even though she suspected that, on some deep-seated level—perhaps even unconsciously—part of him yearned for it anyway. Thor was the firstborn, and so he had always known Thor would one day be King. That he was never destined to rule Asgard. And he had seemed accepting enough of it. Envious at times, yes, but accepting regardless. He had never desired to rule nor believed it his right the way Thor had. Not in the same way, at least.

He had certainly never expected it.

Enough so that, once Odin had been borne out of the vault, after he'd been laid in this very bed, Loki had been visibly taken aback when the Einherjar had knelt before him and Gungnir had been laid in his hands. Tension and uncertainty had been written all over his body for any who knew him well enough to read it. And the look in his eyes when Frigga had reminded him that, with Thor banished, the succession fell to him so long as Odin was lost to the Odinsleep? It was one of the few times in Frigga's recent memory that her son had looked genuinely shocked…and frightened.

He hadn't had words. Her silver-tongued son had been speechless in the face of the realization that he was now King of Asgard.

No, he had not expected to ever be King.

But he had set his jaw and pushed his uncertainty aside. He had looked her in the eye when she'd bade him to make his father proud with an expression of determination that had made her chest swell with pride. Just as she had seen longing in his eyes. And the gleam of anticipation.

It was his chance to prove himself worthy and he had every intention of doing both her and Odin proud.

A chance to finally gain the respect and recognition of Asgard as more than just Thor's brother.

She just hoped he wouldn't lose himself to it in the process.

Golden light reflecting in his veiled eyes, Loki continued to stare down at Odin, his voice strengthening despite the way he was still transfixed. She still heard the faint waver beneath his affected composure. The trace of fear. "How long will it last?"

Grief on his behalf thrummed in her chest once more. For all that the anger and hurt and betrayal he felt at learning his true paternity had been kept from him, Loki still loved his father. But more than that, he still desperately yearned for Odin's approval.

And her heart ached for him because of it.

Behind her, Muninn shifted restlessly on his perch, his brother Huginn rustling his feathers softly off behind Loki in response, her husband's familiars seemingly as troubled as Frigga over the state of their master.

"I don't know," she admitted softly. "This time, it's different. We were unprepared." Loki looked up then, searching her face for the truth. And Frigga's heart ached anew at the pain and betrayal he fought to suppress. His need to understand…

"So why did he lie?" There was a hardness to his voice. One that cut deep. It revealed how hurt and _betrayed_ he felt.

And not just by Odin.

He felt betrayed by Frigga too.

Because she hadn't told him either. She'd seen the quickly hidden flash of it in his eyes when her only reaction to the way he'd hissed what he'd learned was sorrow and remorse and sympathy.

But beneath it? A plea. A plea from a scared child to his mother. A need for comfort and reassurance that overcame any feeling of betrayal.

Frigga suppressed a sad sigh.

Yes. Why.

Frigga had asked herself that repeatedly nearly from the day Odin had brought their new son home even despite tacitly agreeing with Odin then as she had that it was perhaps the wisest course.

There were oh, so many reasons. Each seeming more important than the last.

Yet she still felt ashamed that she had gone along with it for so long even though part of her had known it would lead to this…

…to her son feeling such pain, such anguish over finding out the truth of his heritage.

Yet…there was still so much she couldn't tell him, much as part of her desired to. He was in such pain, such turmoil…he deserved the truth. But not all of it was her truth to tell…

And some secrets were better left buried.

For all their sakes.

There was much she didn't agree with her husband on and she was never afraid to tell him so.

But Hela…

Frigga vividly remembered the days after Odin had brought her Loki, and not just because they had followed the one that saw her beloved younger son placed in her arms.

Odin had left her with Loki that day to confront Hela. To try and make it clear to her that their days of conquering and bloodshed were over. That the time had come to protect and safeguard their Realms.

That it was time for Peace.

Odin had offered Hela an ultimatum, then. To accept his rule of Peace and stand by his side or face banishment.

By the time Odin had subdued her and put down her attempt to wrest the Throne from him by force, the Palace had been bathed in blood. So many lives… Most of those who lived within the Palace's golden walls and nearly all of the warriors who fought for Asgard had died by Hela's hand that accursed day.

It had been a grim day.

Though few knew it—very few were even alive to remember it anymore, given the vast number of Aesir that Hela had slain and the somewhat shorter lifespans of the common Asgardian folk—it had broken Odin's heart to imprison his daughter in Hel, no matter the very real danger she had become to him, to Asgard and to the rest of the Realms. Not only was she was still his child, but he felt the responsibility for his role in what she had become keenly.

And in his grief and remorse and his anger at her forcing his hand, he had sought to bury her memory away forever. Though it had been no secret that Frigga disagreed with his decision to do so, she knew when to pick her battles. She'd known even she would not be able to sway him once he'd made the decision to wipe Hela from history.

Though she had vehemently refused to allow him to truly erase the memory of his daughter from the minds of all his subjects. Not only did she hold grave concerns over the effect harnessing so much dark energy to do so would have on her husband, but it sat ill with her conscience. And so she had staunchly opposed his even considering it.

Rarely had they fought so in all the years she'd loved him as they had when he'd told her of _that_ plan.

But in the end, he'd ceded she had been right and abandoned his proposal to erase all memory of his true firstborn from the minds of his people.

So instead, he had simply allowed memory of Hela to fade with the passage of time and the absence of acknowledgement—though in retrospect she suspected some spell had hastened that process, if she were being truly honest with herself.

It ultimately meant that few truly remembered her save as a spectre of nightmare, and those who did were sworn to say nothing.

In return for Odin's compromise, she had reluctantly agreed that their sons would be raised with no knowledge of Odin's eldest child…

…just as she'd similarly agreed to do her utmost to keep the secret of Loki's true connection to the accursed woman until her dying breath and beyond.

A complicated thrum of guilt and remorse thrummed in her chest at the memory of her vow. At the time…but even dark as those days had been, she should have known better than to even consider that keeping the truth hidden was the right course.

Though there had undoubtedly been more to Odin's reasoning—there always was—Frigga had only seen a means to protect Loki. Not only were the lives lost to Jotunn brutality still far too fresh in the collective minds of their people, but Hela had slaughtered so many more…

…and Loki was not only part Jotunn, but he was also of _her_ blood.

Odin and Frigga couldn't have denied there would've been a very real threat to their son had the truth been known with such bloodshed an indelible part of recent memory.

Yet compromise or not, reasonable—if distasteful—though it had seemed then, Frigga had still been far from happy with the outcome.

Especially where keeping her sons in ignorance were concerned.

 _Someday_ , was all Odin said when confronted with the question of when he would tell them—when he would _warn_ them of their sister's continued existence in exile.

 _When the time is right_.

And then he would always fix Frigga with an unfathomable look that even she couldn't wholly decipher when she asked the next inevitable question.

 _And what of her tie to Loki_?

She had yet to get an answer.

Just as he had been steadfast in the face of her insistence that they at the very least be honest with Loki about the other half of his heritage.

Because she'd always known that, someday, he would learn that truth if he learned no others. How he had not learned of it on his own, tenacious and inquisitive as he was, until now still defied reason. But somehow, the secret of his Jotunn blood had remained just that. Secret.

Frigga saw Odin's hand in that.

But now that secret had come to light.

In perhaps the worst possible way.

And Frigga's heart bled for her son's pain, her stomach twisting sharply with remorse and sympathy. She ached to her very soul for the way he perceived his life to be shattering before his very eyes. For how _betrayed_ he felt.

Because though he fought to keep the depth of his despair and his anguish and his fury at what he had learned hidden? Frigga could see it and she did not even need her gifts to do so. Even now, as they sat in vigil at Odin's beside, she could see him internalizing and even rationalizing their lies rather than blaming her or even Odin as he had at first. She feared that he was blindly—though not irrationally, she had to confess to herself, even if it was incorrectly—assuming that the distance to his father's affections stemmed not just from his perceived inability to measure up to Thor, but from the horrible truth that Frost Giant blood—the blood of a race that he and every child on Asgard learned to see as little more than monsters to fear and revile—ran in his veins.

And she feared he _believed_ it.

That, not only because he was not Thor, but because he was Jotunn he was somehow _less_.

Because no matter how Frigga and Odin both had attempted to instill in both their sons that the Frost Giants, though ancient enemies of Asgard, were still to be respected—that they were no less nor more monstrous than any other race, just…different—they had failed.

The animosity between the two races was so ingrained in their society it was nearly inherent. Even Frigga, despite her best efforts, knew she too fell prey at times to the almost instinctive mistrust and abhorrence on Asgard for Jotunns.

It had been like fighting to swim against a maelstrom; for a time, escape might seem in reach, but inevitably the remorseless and unrelenting current would sweep away any who dared try and fight it.

And now she feared Loki's already diminished perceptions of his own worth—in Odin's eyes…and especially in his own—had been shattered along with what he'd believed to be the truths of who he was.

Such doubts were dangerous. Especially now that he was king.

And those very doubts were eating at his soul. She could _see_ it.

It hurt as much as it terrified her to realize.

Yet honestly? Of the truths kept from her younger son? Counter-intuitive as it seemed, Frigga was secretly relieved in her heart of hearts that it was the truth of his paternity that Loki had learned.

Especially having now seen how that one truth alone had affected him.

As devastated as she knew that he was over the revelation that he was the son by blood of the Jotunn King, Frigga nevertheless believed that, with her support and that of Odin and Thor—who Frigga had no doubts would ultimately accept this new truth, beloved to him as his younger brother was—that Loki would eventually heal and accept the truth of his Jotunn blood.

Hela, however, was another matter entirely.

There was something unnerving and terrifying about her stepdaughter. Something…tainted. Even Frigga's compassionate heart had been unable to find something to love in her beloved husband's firstborn.

Enough so that, though she knew it was wrong, she could not find it in herself to lament Hela's fate.

Not after Hela had threatened her family. It was only Frigga's 'tricks' and her own not insubstantial skill with a blade that had saved her infant sons that horrible, gruesome day. It had been her illusions that had protected Loki and Thor both and staved off Fenris long enough to fall to her sword when he'd stalked into the nursery all those centuries ago.

And seeing Loki before her now? Struggling, _suffering_ as he was from the revelation of his paternity?

Much as it shamed and sickened her to realize, the guilt and remorse she'd always carried over keeping the truth of who had borne him from Loki had eased however minutely. Seeing the effect of his Jotunn heritage coming to light as it had?

As much as it broke her heart and grated on her conscience to do so, Frigga could no longer entirely regret agreeing to keep the final, devastating truth of his birthright from Loki anymore. Just as she had protected him and his brother from Hela's beast when they were still babes in their cradles, she would protect _her_ son from the devastating truth of his birth mother's identity and the details of the circumstances surrounding of his birth.

Oh, how it would devastate him beyond measure to know the truth…if he felt pain now, Frigga couldn't bear to even consider the betrayal and anguish her boy would feel to know he was being measured, not against his brother, but against the woman who had birthed him. That Odin was not so much measuring him against some metric of achievement Thor had set, but waiting in dread for his daughter's blood to tell in her son.

That _she_ was the reason Odin would watch him, his expression impassive and unfathomable and considering.

She knew that, despite himself, there were times all Odin saw in Loki was evidence of his birth mother. And that he'd always subtly—perhaps even unconsciously, despite Frigga's fears to the contrary—held their adopted son at arm's length as compared to Thor as a result. He feared that Loki was too much like Hela. And loathe as she was to admit it, there were times Frigga could not help but see it herself.

No, the truth of who'd borne him was one truth Frigga suddenly knew she would protect her son from until her last breath even if it tore at her heart to do so.

Just as no possible good would come from him learning of the bloodthirsty harridan who had thrown him away.

He had already struggled with his sense of worth long before he learned of his Jotunn blood. To have that crippling doubt further compounded by the discovery that the woman who birthed him had believed him worthless? Repulsive? Loathsome?

Looking to her son, then, easily able to pick out the shadows of hurt and vulnerability beneath the stony set to his handsome features as only a mother could, Frigga fought back a shudder at the next inevitable line of thought.

For him to learn the whole truth of the circumstances that had brought Loki to Frigga's arms would bad enough. But should he learn of just what Hela was?

To further discover that he was the offspring of not one but two monsters?

It would destroy Loki.

One way or another…

Either it would break him in a way even learning he was part-Jotunn could not, or…her stomach twisted in violent terror at the alternative.

She feared above all else that she would lose him to that truth. That he could _embrace_ it as she knew he never would his Jotunn heritage. Frigga loved her son dearly but she was not blind.

There was a darkness in her boy that Frigga couldn't deny. One that she knew in her heart of hearts had come from the woman who bore him. A darkness she feared would consume him should it be given the opportunity to take hold. Loki could be cruel and manipulative and he could be brutal and unforgiving. Even his magics, though taught by Frigga, at times manifested akin to Hela's own. He had always excelled at conjuring, much as Hela had. And in the heat of battle? Frigga had borne witness herself how he seemed to come alive in a way that he rarely allowed to show any other time, his eyes gleaming in a way even Thor's didn't when caught in the thrill of a fight.

More than that, she could sense it in him just as easily as she'd been able to sense the truth of his parentage that day so many centuries before. It lurked beneath the silvery-quick sharpness that was her son like an oily, predatory shadow, weaving and caressing hungrily amid the vindictive, calculating cruelty that he normally held subdued deep within himself, restrained save when his emotions ran too hot or too cold for him to contain…or when he chose to set it loose.

It was why she almost desperately feared that he would do just that should he learn of Hela. She feared that, out of enforced ignorance of how much _worse_ Hela was than Laufey, Loki would see the blood and the heritage—the _Asgardian_ blood—he'd inherited from his birth mother as the lesser of two evils.

That he would see _her_ path as a path to the respect and recognition he so craved. A way to set himself apart.

That she would lose her beloved son to the truth of the blood that birthed him. She knew he carried the potential for the same dark malice and gleeful viciousness and more that Hela had possessed. Much as she might long to deny it, she too had seen glimpses of his birth mother in her son. The glimpses Odin saw and feared above all else.

Glimpses _Frigga_ feared above all else.

She could not bear to risk damning her son to become that woman.

Just as she knew she could never have banished Thor as her husband had done—even if it was for Thor's sake as Odin insisted—she couldn't condemn Loki to the curse of his birth mother's legacy. Perhaps that made her weak, but she did not care. She could not let that happen. Not to her sharp, sensitive boy. She refused to let that woman's influence corrupt her son's good heart.

Frigga had already lost one son. She had no intention of losing another.

And so Frigga reluctantly resolved to do the one thing she hated doing most when it came to her youngest son.

She did as Odin had done.

She lied.

She lied by telling the truth.

"He kept the truth from you so that you would never feel different," she said firmly, ignoring the sharp twist in her chest at the partial truth…the words still held a trace bitter, ashen aftertaste.

And yet…it also _was_ the truth. Just not the whole truth. There were simply too many reasons behind keeping it from him and each was more complicated than the last. And even if it was an oversimplification, the decision _had_ ultimately been made to keep Loki's heritage from him to protect him from that which set him apart—his birth parents' blood. Was it misguided? There was no doubt in Frigga's mind, now. But at the time, it had seemed reasonable and even necessary despite the sour taste it had left in Frigga's mouth to consciously agree to keep the truth from her new son.

The carnage her stepdaughter alone had left in her wake in her failed attempt to overthrow her father had left them little choice, as had the violence wrought by Laufey and his Army.

So yes, it wasn't entirely a lie, either. He _was_ her son, and she had never treated him as anything less. If anything, she had even indulged in small acts of favouritism toward Loki that she knew he would never see from Odin, no matter that she adored her boys equally. To see that Loki was raised every bit the Prince of Asgard Thor was _had_ been their intent, and both she and Odin—though with admittedly less success on his part than Frigga could claim—had tried to raise him thus, so that not only would he feel equal within their family, but among the people of Asgard as well.

It was in that effort that they had failed.

Even within their family, despite Frigga's best efforts, Loki had always felt …apart.

Separate.

Different.

But her gaze never wavered from her son's expressive green eyes— _her_ eyes, Frigga couldn't help but note as she always had with a pang of grief and guilt. But love for the present bearer of those eyes surged up, bolstering her resolve; he might bear his birth mother's eyes, but his often held warmth and light and life that Frigga knew Hela's never had.

Irrefutable evidence to Frigga that he was not the woman who birthed him.

Evidence that he deserved to be saved from Hela's legacy.

"You are our son, Loki. And we your family," she told him without hesitation, reaffirming to him the immutable and absolute truth she held firmly in her heart. The truth that he desperately needed reaffirmed. Frigga withheld another sad sigh as she continued to observe him, her heart aching at the conflict she could see in him in that moment.

It was threatening to tear him apart.

He wanted to believe her. Desperately.

And subtly, the tension in his shoulders eased, the troubled turbulence she sensed in him calming ever so slightly. It was an almost imperceptible shift, but it was there. Frigga nearly sighed once more, this time with relief as the effect of her conviction settled around him, soothing him much as her embrace had that day so long ago when she'd first held him in her arms.

He held no doubts of her love for him. He held no doubts that he was unquestionably her son in her eyes.

It was a small mercy.

There was only so much doubt even he could bear before breaking.

The telltale sheen forming across his vibrant eyes that he stoically strove to ignore as he glanced once more to his father attested to that.

She just hoped her faith would be enough to stave off the misgivings—both of others and his own self-doubt—of his suitability to safeguard the Throne threatening to break him.

But Odin… Just as easily as she could see the relief in him at the reassurance of her unconditional love, she could see the longing in him to hear the same from the man laying between them. To _believe_ it. She could see his eyes harden subtly and the tension her affirmation had eased return as Loki looked to Odin, the doubt and pain settling over him once more, no matter how he still strove to hide it.

And Frigga knew with an almost physical ache that weighed on her very soul that Loki would have no closure until Odin woke.

That he _needed_ his father to wake.

Emotional wounds needed to be lanced before they could heal else they would fester just as surely as a wound of flesh and bone.

Loki needed to hear the whole of the truth that Odin could give him from Odin himself.

She had to hope that Odin would hold nothing back.

Just as she prayed that Loki would believe it.

"We mustn't lose hope that your father will return to us," she said, voicing the assurance without saying it outright, drawing Loki's once more impassive gaze back to her. "And your brother."

Immediately his gaze sharpened, caught unawares by her conviction. "What hope is there for Thor?"

Frigga smiled sympathetically, noticing but tactfully not mentioning the renewed vulnerability she could sense in him…though the accompanying apprehension concerned her.

He might have angrily lamented Thor's recklessness and coolly defended his decision to send a guard for Odin even knowing Odin's likely wroth at their actions, but there had been no hiding his shock and dismay when Loki had come to Frigga to tell her of Thor's banishment and what had preceded it. Nor had he been entirely able to hide the responsibility—the guilt even—he felt over Thor's fate. While he'd admitted as much to her that he'd known rationally that Odin would inevitably reprimand Thor for so foolishly journeying to Jotunheim, he had numbly confessed that he had most certainly not expected Odin to go so far in his punishment for Thor's horrific judgement.

Truthfully, Frigga could never have fathomed it herself. To banish Thor so? It felt too unfathomably brutal.

It reminded Frigga far too viscerally of Hela's fate.

And she had furiously confronted her husband to tell him so.

But now?

Now, after hearing Odin's reasoning, after seeing his paternal anguish hidden behind his kingly fury at his heir's folly? After having had time for the first consuming surge of her own shock and horror to abate and allow her to truly contemplate precisely what Odin had done and—more importantly, perhaps—why?

Much as it pained her to acknowledge, she had to consider that perhaps Odin had been right to banish Thor as he had. That perhaps they had both been wrong that Thor was ready to be king. Just like Loki, her elder son was not perfect. Frigga knew this. And much as she hated to admit to herself? The very traits she knew her husband feared to see in Loki were present in Thor as well—traits Thor and Hela both had inherited from their father. Thor was so headstrong, so certain in his entitled place. Proud. Selfish. Reckless. Thirsting for glory and battle. Even, at times, cruel, thoughtlessly so. Though it had taken careful prompting, she had heard from Loki the things said between her husband and eldest son and, even knowing he still hadn't told her all, she could well understand how Odin had been troubled enough to resort to banishing Thor from how troubled her younger son had been alone.

She didn't doubt that her husband had seen in Thor the shadows of whom he himself had once been when Hela had fought by his side.

Shadows of what Hela had become.

And so he had banished Thor, hoping that it might snap him free from the dangerous path he was on.

"There's always a purpose to everything your father does," Frigga said with soft certainty. Because it was true. Though he had an incredible capacity for love, Odin did not have a soft heart. Frigga knew this. She had long accepted it. Her husband was always King above all else.

Even husband and father.

And Odin was every bit as cunning and calculating as his younger son.

Perhaps more so.

He always weighed the consequences and benefits of everything he did. Odin did little without careful reasoning and less out of simple sentiment.

Even in saving an infant—a child of his blood—from a cruel death in the cold wastes of Jotunheim.

Loki drew back, his veiled gaze falling back to Odin as he processed what she'd told him.

But it wasn't quite enough to hide the stunned gleam of contemplation—along with apprehension and even a trace of resentment she noted uneasily, the particular set of his jaw giving it away—in the pale green depths as she continued. "Thor may yet find a way home."

He said nothing in reply, and Frigga did not expect him to. She withheld yet another sad sigh. He was at war with himself, she realized sadly, watching him sink into thought, beginning to retreat defensively into himself as he always had when troubled.

Perhaps mentioning Thor's potential return hadn't been so comforting as she'd hoped.

Part of Loki—the part that loved and admired his older brother—wanted, even needed Thor to return. To have his brother, one of his few true allies, by his side again. Even to allay the guilt he felt in the role he'd played in Thor's banishment.

But she feared that part was weakening. Especially in the face of so much…resentment that Loki was now the one to sit on the Throne.

And in the face of the fears he was refusing to acknowledge—that _everything_ in his life was a lie, including his family's love for him.

She feared that Loki's thirst to prove himself worthy of his place as King, of his place as Odin's son, as more than just Thor's lesser shadow was blinding him to the love and friendship he and his brother had always shared.

She feared that Thor's recklessness, that his careless disregard and even dismissal of Loki time and time again—even if out of thoughtless, selfish arrogance instead of deliberate cruelty—had damaged their bond enough that Loki's resentment would overwhelm his admiration.

She feared that, if Thor were to find his way home, that Loki would be unable to look upon him without bitterness.

Especially if the people rejoiced and called for Thor to take up the Throne in Loki's place even after nearly driving Asgard once more to war.

She worried that Loki was beginning to see Thor as a threat.

Truly, that thought terrified her almost as much as the prospect of Thor never finding his way back to Asgard.

Just as it terrified her that Loki had been thrust into this position in the manner he had.

She had to hope that, should Thor return, he would support Loki. That he would give him this moment in the sun.

To let his brother prove to all that he was worthy of the regard and respect Loki had been refused simply by virtue of not being his brother.

After a long moment, one of his many masks—a stoic, impassive one that she knew he wore when at his most unsettled—in place Loki rose, his movements careful and collected as he stood and turned from Odin's bedside. Frigga didn't stop him. She was easily able to recognize that he needed time alone to process his chaotic thoughts. She simply let him go with an empathetic look that she hoped he could drawn at least some comfort from.

She had given him what she could.

What Loki chose to do now was in his hands and his alone.

So much rested on what her wounded boy chose to do next. She had to believe he would do the right thing, no matter what was coming.

Because something was coming. She could feel the approaching change in the air.

But as the doors fell shut with an unsettlingly ominous thud, Frigga couldn't help the chill of dread that ran up her spine.

* * *

 **A/N : Thank you so much for reading! I hope you loved reading it as much as I did writing it!**

 **And I hope you'll leave me a review telling me what you think!** **I'd very much love to hear from you!**

 **Happy Reading!**


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